Write It

While I was on my blogging hiatus, I actually started another blog. Contradictory, right? It was a blog that I wanted to devote solely to "real" writing (whatever that means). I wrote a total of 3 entries. I guess I'm better at "fake" writing. Ha. :) One thing that did come out of that failed blog was rediscovering my love of poetry. Here's a bit of what I wrote about poetry:

Poetry was my first love. I remember learning about poetry in fourth grade and going home and scribbling line after line of it, practically drunk with the thrill of finding a rhyme. I remember being ecstatic when my teacher read one of my poems aloud (I believe it began: “Fish, fish in the blue sea,/Please come out and play with me”), and I filled notebooks with poems, then stories and the beginnings of novels. I know that I am not a good poet, but I do love to shape words into lines and stanzas.

I've said before that poetry is like chocolate for the soul, and I really do think that. There are few things so satisfying as reading a well-crafted poem.

Though it's not well-crafted, I thought I would share a poem I wrote this summer and have not edited since. Reader be warned: mediocrity ahead!

Together Separate

In a haze of pain and glory, you enter
the world, your cry filling the room
and my heart at once. I look on you,
flesh of my flesh, and marvel. You seem familiar
and yet a stranger.  My fingers fumble as I try to feed you,
your eyes closed and shut away. I do not know
how to do this.

Through the blur of midnight wakings,
unceasing cries, spit-upon articles of clothing,
I look down and realize I love you, though you
know nothing of love yet, only the basic rhythms of
life.  I gaze into your eyes, find myself lost in their trusting depths,
and we are both newly born.


Do you have a favorite poem? Share it with me!

Five Minute Friday: Real

{I'm participating in Gypsy Mama's Five Minute Friday for the first time. It was really hard to stick to that 5 minute limit. And I may have done a little deleting, but I will do better next time!}

~

We are a society obsessed with reality TV. You don't have to flip too many channels to find some reality program on. But those shows? They're not real.

If you were to ask me if I have a problem "being real," I would tell you no. But I would be lying. As much as I pride myself on being real on my blog and in person, I am often anything but. I like to self-edit, pick and choose those parts of me that are most likely to be accepted, most likely to be praised.

Sometimes I don't even know how to be real anymore.

I stick the not-so-lovely bits in a dark place and hope they never come to light. I worry that if I finally muster the courage to be truly real, if I truly bare it all, then I will scare everyone away. So I keep those bits tucked away and wonder why I'm lonely.

Being real is scary. Being real is vulnerable. But being real can also be freeing, and who couldn't use a little more freedom in their life?

I think of the lyrics, "This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine" and think that I've been doing an awful lot of hiding under a bushel. It's time to let the light in. It's time to be real.

Stuck

So I kind of don't know what to do with this blog. I'm having a blog identity crisis, I guess. I don't really feel much like writing about weight loss since I'm not weighing very frequently and even when I do, I'm not having dramatic losses. It's kind of hard to have a "weight loss blog" without the weight loss, don't you think? I also am struggling with the fact that in January, I will have been blogging about losing weight for four years. Is that inspiring? I mean, who wants to read about a woman who's been trying to lose weight for the better part of FOUR YEARS and still hasn't reached her goal? I'm pretty sure that timeline of progress is not going to get me on a talk show anytime soon, unless the topic is slowest losers.

The other thing I blog about most is Charlotte, and while I of course love posts about Charlotte, I'm not foolish enough to think everyone else is completely enamored with my daughter. I worry about posting too much about her and boring everyone (although let's face it, she's the cutest thing on the face of the earth, and no, I'm not biased).

So where does this leave me?

I have no idea.

What does everyone think?

To Take What We Love Inside

The first time I read this poem, I read it again. And again. I adore Li-Young Lee. His love of words pours from every line of his writing, and when I read his poems I am swept up in the fervor. Read his words, and then read them again.

From Blossoms
Li-Young Lee
published in Rose

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

Li-Young Lee gave a reading during my last semester as an undergrad, and he also hosted a writers' workshop afterwards. He read one of my poems during that workshop and offered his comments and even a bit of praise. It was one of the most surreal, proudest moments of my life. I need to read poetry more often. I used to read it almost every day, but I slowly got out of the habit. I used to write poems almost every day as well, but that was before grad school squelched any ounce of creativity I possessed. I want the poet in me to come back. I want the writer in me to come back. "O, to take what we love inside..."

Happiness

I was going through old files on my external hard drive to see if there were files I could get rid of, and while doing so I came across one called "My Happy Book." The utter cheesiness of the title aside, I was instantly reminded of what this file contained. In the winter break before my last semester at Union, I was browsing around one of my favorite haunts, Barnes & Noble, when I happened upon a book in one of the carousels by the cafe'. I think the title was something like 10,000 Reasons to be Happy or 10,000 Things to Be Happy About, but I can't seem to find a book of that title, so perhaps I made it up. However, I do remember thinking several things about this book.
1) It was a little sad that people needed to read a book of generic things someone else had come up with, in the hopes that it would make them happy.
2) It would be silly to buy this book, as I could make a much more personal list of my own for free, thereby saving myself $10.99 and ensuring that each item truly was a reason for me to be happy. (For example, I remember one of happy things being "cigars after dinner," and cigars are disgusting.)
3) Making a list of happy things would be a good way to remember all that is good in my life, all that God has so richly and lavishly bestowed upon my small existence.

After leaving the store that day I started the document, resolving to add at least 5 items to the list every day. Unfortunately, I'm notoriously bad at coming up with good ideas and never seeing them through, so the 5-happy-things-a-day plan lasted perhaps two weeks before life crowded in and caused me to forget to dwell on the happy things. Every now and then, though, I would remember, and I'd go back to my list and add whatever came to mind, often adding a lot more than the self-imposed 5 happy things minimum.

My Happy Book, as I came to call it, hadn't been opened for a while, as far as I could tell. When I opened it today, the last item was #317: The smell of freshly-cut grass. It's been almost four years since I first started that list, and I only managed to get to #317. Reading over the list was quite interesting, and I found my happy things ranging from the general (#27: God's infinitude) to the very specific (#88: a Miles Davis CD on eBay for $.250), to the academic (#37: Making an A on a paper and knowing I earned it; #201: Correctly breaking up a word into morphemes [I've completely forgotten how to do that!]), to the food-related (#20: Chocolate brownie frappuccino from Starbucks [which they no longer have!]; #211: Cherry limeades from Sonic), to the book-related (#29: Sitting in front of a blazing fire and reading a good book; #43: Finishing a really good book with the knowledge that I will definitely want to read it again; #68: Beginning a new book; #69: The smell of a new book; #195: Lying in a hammock on a spring day and reading a good book).

The funny thing about a list like this is that it's easy to tell what stage of life I was in at the time. I could tell when I wasn't at Union because I looked forward to break being over so I could go back, and I could tell when I had left Union and had begun grad school at UT because there were mentions of a new city and an apartment and small victories in theory class or Old English. Reading these happy things is like opening up a box of photos and thumbing through them one by one, and I'm so glad I have new happy things--more verbal photographs--to add (#318: My husband; #319: My husband bringing home flowers; #321: Being able to use the word "husband").

Life is good. I am deeply blessed by a God who shows me His grace every day.

What would you put in your happy book?

What is a story?

Is it more than six words? Hemingway would not think so, for he wrote a story in six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." Last year, Wired asked other writers to compose their own six-word stories, often with interesting, if not somewhat puzzling results. Here are my attempts (I had to resist the urge to count syllables instead of words, as I'm used to writing nonsensical haikus). What are yours?

Test positive. Time to buy diapers.

Road ending ahead. Brakes don't work.

Cut the red fuse, the red--

I never should have trusted him.

HT: Freethinker777

(Mostly) Surefire Ways to Get Eprops

1. Post pictures of flowers from your boyfriend/fiance, or pictures of your cute puppy or child. People love cute/pretty stuff.
2. Get engaged.
3. Say something wildly outrageous that will anger/excite people. (Example: I think Bush is the best president we've ever had.)
4. Have people vote for something, like a background song or a favorite picture.
5. Post about your birthday. People always like leaving birthday props.
6. Recap Gilmore Girls in a witty and intelligent fashion.
7. Bribe. Say things like, "I have HUGE news, but I'm only telling it if I get 20 eprops." Or make it sound more pitiful, like, "No one loves me on Xanga anymore. Where's the love?"
8. Ask questions of your readers. (See the end of this post.)

And generally speaking, I find that it's easier to get eprops when you actually write a post more than once every two months. (*cough* Stephen *cough*)

What are some of your tips for getting eprops?

P.S. I will give eprops to the person who can tell me how to add accents to letters using a laptop. The alt+ number formula doesn't work.

Glad

I am glad to be alive
on nights like this
one
with the wind blowing through the open windows,
carrying the scent of freshly-cut grass
and honeysuckle blossoms,
the stars winking above,
the road whispering below,
my mind composing poems like this one
that I will forget before I can put
paper and pen together.

I am glad to be alive
on nights like this
one
when I sing with abandon,
my one free arm dangling
out the window, meeting the wind
pressing up against it,
like the very earth rising up to listen to my voice
join the voices of those before me,
preceding those after me,
a chorus of praise swallowed up by the night.

A Small Miracle of Mercy

Something amazing happened today: I experienced mercy. I lost the entire contents of my paper last night, and so I was up all night rewriting it. Around 7 I had 8 and a half pages of the 10 I needed, and I emailed my professor and explained what happened. I told her I would try and be prepared to present today but I wanted to let her know in case it turned out to be total junk, which it really was. My brain was completely fried, and I was so stressed out, but then my professor emailed me back and told me she had no problem with my presenting on Thursday instead. I was totally not expecting any kind of leniency because the whole "my computer ate my paper" story is a standard among the freshmen students, and I probably wouldn't have had sympathy for a student of mine who came to me with my story. I was so relieved when I got the email that I started crying and ended up looking like a complete mess for my next class. But it gets better. I had a paper due on Thursday as well that I was going to have to pretty much kill myself to get done in time, and I was definitely not looking forward to it. But today in class one of my classmates asked if we could have an extension, and lo and behold, the professor said yes! Now the paper's not due until Monday! Praise the Lord!!

And because I have no original thought in me right now:

45 of the most random things you probably never needed to know about someone

What's your name spelled backwards?: lezteh elocin nire

What did you do last night?: Wrote a paper. All night long.

The last thing you downloaded onto your computer?: I believe it was the new All-American Rejects CD

Have you ever licked a 9 volt battery?: No, I stick to AA batteries only.

Last time you swam in a pool?: Hmm, I don't remember. Maybe last summer?

What are you wearing?: t-shirt and pajama pants

How many cars have you owned?: I haven't owned any myself, but I've driven three different ones.

Type of music you dislike most?: Polka

Are you registered to vote?: You betcha!

Do you have cable?: The most basic of basic, just so I can have the WB.

what kind of computer do you have? An HP laptop that is currently on my bad side.

Ever made a prank phone call?: Of course.

You like anyone right now?: Yep.

Would you go bungee jumping or sky diving?: I'd go sky diving, but bungee jumping makes me nervous for some reason.

Furthest place you ever traveled?: Thailand.

What's your favorite comic strip?: I don't read comics much, but I like Luann and Family Circle.

Do u know all the words to the national anthem?: Yes I do.

Shower, morning or night?: Usually morning.

Best movie you've seen in the past month?: That I hadn't already seen? American Dreamz

Favorite pizza toppings?: ham and pineapple or pepperoni or even just plain cheese.

Chips or popcorn?: Chips usually, but I do love popcorn.

What cell phone provider do you have?: Verizon

Have you ever smoked peanut shells?: I'm not sure how one would even go about doing that.

Have you ever been in a beauty pageant?: No, unless you count the one I was in during a sleepover in sixth grade.

Orange Juice or apple?: Orange Juice!

Who were the last people you sat at lunch with?: Diana

Favorite chocolate bar?: Twix or Take 5

Who is your longest friend and how long?: Laura. We've known each other since sixth grade. (Can you believe that, Laura??)

Last time you ate a homegrown tomato?: A long time ago. I don't really like tomatoes.

Have you ever won a trophy?: Yes, several. I have some bowling trophies from my successful stint as a member of the third grade bowling league, I have some dance trophies, and I have some trophies I won in middle school writing contests.

Favorite arcade game?: Cruisin' USA. Hehe.

Ever ordered from an infomercial?: No, but my parents do it way more than is healthy.

Sprite or 7-UP?: Sprite, but really I don't drink either very often.

Have you ever had to wear a uniform to school/work?: No, but it sure would have made things easier.

Last thing you bought at Walgreens?: A bubble mailer.

Ever thrown up in public?: Yes, but it was in elementary school.

Would you prefer being a millionaire or finding true love?: Love. Money goes away, but true love lasts forever. (Yes, I could write for Hallmark.)

Do you believe in love at first sight?: No, only lust at first sight.

Spongebob or Jimmy Neutron?: I don't really watch either one.

Did you have long hair as a young kid?: No. I've never really had long hair.

What message is on your voicemail machine?: Something about how I'm sorry to have missed your call and if you leave a message I'll call you back. Very original.

Where would you like to go right now?: A tropical island complete with a hammock and a cute guy.

Whats the name of your pet?: I don't have one.

What kind of backpack do you have, and what's in it?: It's a really old one from Target (I think it's Greatland), and I have a ton of junk in it.

What do you think about most?: Myself, unfortunately.

I got my bad piece of writing back, and the professor thought it was really good. I don't get it. How is it that I'm incapable of correctly evaluating my own work? I don't have problems evaluating other people's work. Hmm.

This will probably be my last post until Monday. I'm going on a little road trip to Atlanta with some lovely ladies, and we will be gone until Sunday. We're going to be pampered and go shopping and visit the aquarium. Should be marvelous. If only I didn't have a ton of work hanging over my head! Have a great weekend, everyone, and don't drown! It's been pouring here for hours.

One Year Anniversary

Today is my one year anniversary as a blogger. I'm making a big deal out of this mainly because it's the only anniversary I can make a big deal out of. One day (hopefully) I'll be talking about my wedding anniversary, and that will be fabulous, but until then, happy anniversary, blog! Technically speaking, this isn't my xanga anniversary, but it is the day that I started my blog on Blogger. I was feeling sentimental, so I reread some of my entries on Blogger, and I'm starting to think the stuff I was writing there is better than what I've been writing here, at least for the most part. I wonder if any of that has to do with the fact that I didn't have much of an audience over on blogspot, so I could just write without being aware of 78 subscribers, but who knows. Anyway, here's what I wrote on that oh-so-monumental day of January 31, 2005:

Hello, dear reader. I'm starting off this blog by being optimistic enough to think that someone will actually read this, in which case that person would be very dear. When I first thought about starting a blog I decided not to because my life is, well, not all that spectacular. However, after further rumination, I determined that life itself is spectacular (yes, I could write for Hallmark), and it's our attitudes that determine what kind of life we live day by day. Every day when I wake up I have a choice: to be happy or to be sad, to be positive or to be negative, to be excited or bored. (That was more than one choice, but it's my blog, so I'll do what I want. And in case you haven't noticed, I am overly fond of parenthetical statements.) Today, for instance, I have to say that I woke up with dread, for several reasons. For one, it was Monday, and Mondays just come much too quickly after Sundays. Secondly, it's month-end, which means that I had all sorts of reports to run at work, and the computer almost always fights against me, which in turn means that I spend all day with the phone glued to my ear, talking to a computer techie. And third, my bed was super warm. Why, you ask? Two words, my friends: flannel sheets. They are absolutely marvelous. After purchasing said flannel sheets, I named my bed "Happy Bed." (Before it was just "That Thing I Sleep In," which is decidedly less interesting.) But I digress. So this morning I had the choice to go to work and be grumpy and let my mood match the gloomy weather outside, but I opted not to. Instead, I decided that Monday should be no different from any other day of the week, and wouldn't you know it? I had a great day! Nothing went wrong with the computer, I got all of my work done, and I found a book on teaching yourself Latin for a really cheap price! (I want to learn Latin since I plan to get my doctorate in medieval literature.) With that said, embrace each day you're given. You never know, it may be your last.

Interesting, huh? A lot has changed in a year. For one, I'm no longer at that job, and for that I offer up a great big "Hallelujah!" Secondly, I'm in a completely different city doing a completely different thing. The transition period, as my long-term readers know, was difficult, but now I can honestly say that I'm grateful God brought me to the city of Knoxville to become a grad student. And that's a huge thing for me. Then of course there's the fact that sadly I no longer am in possession of those wonderful flannel sheets. I got a new bedroom suite when I moved, and my sheets were for a full-sized bed, but my new bed is a queen. Very sad day when I realized the Happy Bed would be a little less happy. But then I got sateen sheets, and they are pretty marvelous as well. I can adapt. (And I'm moving on because no one cares about my sheets.) What's funny about this entry is that I wrote about finding a book on learning Latin, and I still have yet to learn any Latin. That's pretty sad. I did, however, open up the book the other day and read the introduction. I really must learn Latin. I pretty much can't be a bona fide medievalist unless I do, so if anyone knows Latin and wants to give me some tips, please do!

Anywho, I will say that the reminder to make the most of every day is a timely one. As a fairly pessimistic kind of person I'm often tempted to dwell on the negatives, but I do really think that perspective is key, so I'm working a lot on changing that. With God's invaluable help and guidance, I'm learning the meaning of Paul's command to "rejoice in the Lord always." It's no easy command, but trying is half the battle. So, my dear readers, remember that this day is what you make of it. This is the day the Lord has made, so rejoice and be glad in it!

P.S. New Gilmore Girls tonight! Get ready for a showdown with the grandparents!

EDIT: GG was a-MAZ-ing! The last 10 minutes were probably some of the best in the entire show's history. Absolutely brilliant. Stay tuned for more of that commentary you all know and love. Or at least know about. Whatever.

I want to be a writer. But apparently not badly enough, or I would be like the poets/novelists that I've read about or heard talk about how they wake up at 5 am to write, or compose poems while their children are taking naps and whatnot. They talk of writing every day, no matter what it is, just getting thoughts down on paper (or onto a screen, as the case may be) because they feel that they can do nothing else but write. And me? I can't even write in my journal every day, much less write the great American novel. Or a good poem. I'll settle for a good poem.

Is it possible to mourn for something that never was? Because I mourn for those thoughts I let escape, the thoughts I could have turned into something memorable, even poignant, or dare I say, beautiful. I mourn for the hundreds of poems left unwritten, the words left unsaid, the stories left undone. And every once in a while I will read something and think, "I could have written this. It's as though they looked inside my soul and wrote what I wanted to but did not." They beat me to it. So I pay for my laziness by reading others' greatness.

I don't think I'm making much sense. But I thought for once I'd obey the urge I had to write and just write. Sigh.

Poetry Does a Body Good

Sledding

12/23/04

My brother asked me to go sledding today.
I told him no,
it was too cold, my gloves had holes in them,
and besides, we didn’t have sleds.
He begged me, telling me that we could use
cardboard or cookie sheets, anything would do.
He even offered me his gloves.

"Come on, how often does it snow?"
He asked, not waiting for my answer,
obvious as it was. I glanced out the window
at the ground covered with the "wintry mix"
predicted by the meteorologist, at the leaves
frozen to the ground, at the real icicles
hanging from the icicle lights,
and I shivered.
"It’s much warmer in here. Maybe later."

I flip through some channels, nothing
but Jerry Springer and Elimidate,
and then I try to read Anna Karenina
for the fifth time,
and then I decide to take a nap.
Only, I can’t sleep for the sound
of my brother’s voice
and the image of his face.

Sighing, I get up and go to find him,
but he’s not there
and the snow has melted.

This poem is not at all autobiographical, although it had snowed when I wrote it and I was thinking about how I wished I had gotten to spend more time hanging out with my brother growing up, but the rest is just my imagination. Carpe diem, my friends.